Will I ever feel good enough?

This is the question that has been churning around in my mind, and stomach for the last couple of weeks.

It’s September.

This time last year, I’d accepted my depression was back, and I wanted to do something about it once and for all. And I did. And it was the best thing I ever did. Therapy changed my life.  I felt like a new person: a person in control; a person who believed in themselves; a person who actually liked themself. Other people noticed and commented. I even told some people how I’d managed this transformation. My experience this summer was a sharp, stark contrast to the last one: I was bright and bubbly and happy. I felt part of the fun. I enjoyed all the things I did.

As back to school approached, I continued feeling strong and in control. Things that filled me with self-loathing, I tackled. I bought study guides and grammar books to stop the feeling of inadequacy I carry with me when analysing texts. I followed the strategies I’d learned in therapy. I felt great. I felt confident. The first week back at work buoyed my spirits. My new organising system worked. It made me feel like a I had a strong foundation that would support my KS3 English Coordinator role and my desire to be the best teacher I could be. I did fret about GCSE results, but I didn’t allow my worries to overwhelm me. Again, I used the strategies that therapy had supplied.

And then I got ill. A nasty, rotten, energy zapping illness, and it started to destroy me. I kept working at the pace I had when I was healthy. I pushed and pushed when I knew I was exhausted and gradually the things I had so successfully kept at bay, wormed their way back into my thoughts. Organising a KS3 trip felt impossible. My results analysis was muddled and confused, only confirming the voice that said I was not good enough. My marking piles grew and grew and the more I marked the louder the voice became, “You’re not good enough” and that is pretty where I am right now.

It’s been a loooong time since my last blog post. I took a break because I felt like I didn’t know my own voice. I wanted to write, but I was becoming something I wasn’t: a voice I didn’t recognise, and then time wore on and life got in the way. I thought about possible posts, but nothing ever came to fruition. However, tonight instead of letting myself sit and cry about the feelings of hopelessness that are beginning to circle around me like hungry sharks, I decided to write. I decided without really deciding, to commit my soul to paper, and so here it is.

What am I hoping to achieve? Good question. I think, I’m hoping if I empty my head, I might start to see more clearly. I might remind myself that I am not hopeless or useless. I might remind myself that I work hard and I care, and I do my bset, but that it is okay not to be perfect. That maybe I can’t control everything, and in fact, if experience has taught me anything, it’s that I always muddle through, somehow. In fact, muddling through has served me well. I have a job I love. I have a wonderful, supportive husband.  I have a beautiful, boistrous son.  I have a patient, loyal dog.  I have exceptional friends. I have so much that makes me happy. My life, actually, is pretty lovely. So perhaps, I should just sit back, relax and go with the flow.

Will I ever feel good enough? Probably not. Will I be able to recognise when I’ve done okay?  Maybe.